


prime (and otherwise)

by rollingplains



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-05
Updated: 2014-06-05
Packaged: 2018-02-03 05:10:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1732355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rollingplains/pseuds/rollingplains
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which they discuss an alternate universe while in this one, to pass the time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	prime (and otherwise)

**Author's Note:**

> un-beta'd, with mentions of emotional instability

He hates this, all this sitting, and not doing, and maybe it was his fault anyway for pissing off the captain, and Amy, bless her heart for volunteering to take this case with him so he wouldn't have to deal with Boyle for the entire morning, only makes it marginally better. He's still just sitting in a car, after all, 'surveilling' a guy that's spent the last 90 minutes in an Italian restaurant eating pesto tossed linguine. On a Tuesday morning. By himself.

He had griped about it all last week.

"He could get a patrol officer to watch this guy!"

"Jake, he's a known arsonist." That would be Det. Captain Obvious Detective speaking.

"Well, watching him is not a two person job."

"It's a two person job because Holt is sending two people to do the job," Det. Captain Obvious Detective reminds him.

 ("Stop being so reasonable!" he had yelled back).

"All right, cover identities,"  Det. Captain Obv- uh, _Amy_ says to distract him. She must be worried about him and his grumpy face; she even bought him a hot dog from a stand from down the street ("I don't know if it's kosher," she had said apologetically). She props her feet up on the dash and waits expectantly.

She knows as well as he does that no back stories are required. Not even false names. At most, they'd just have to pass for a couple of...not cops if they had to follow him or something.  He sighs.  "We're tourists that have taken a wrong turn, not just in New York, but in life. We've given up on ever finding our way and we've just been sitting in this car for hours, helplessly waiting for rescue."

For a moment he's proud of how poetic that sounded, but she just looks exasperated. "Stop being so pissy." she orders. "Come on, cover identities," she repeats, this time impatiently.  "You love this shit."

He does, it's true, and ok, he can tell she's trying, so he can too. He looks over at her, and she's dressed casually in a t-shirt and jeans for their stakeout instead of her normal pantsuits, and for a second, he thinks that he'd really like to see her more outside of work. And suddenly it hits him. "You're Jessica Morales, career-college dropout."

"Hey!"

_You asked_ , he thinks. He takes a bite of his hot dog. "You realized that with your looks, you'd make a lot more bartending than as a medical receptionist. Perfect ratio of ketchup to relish, by the way."

"If that's the nicest thing you could say about me, you shouldn't have bothered." she says, sounding offended.

He's not sure which of his two previous statements she's referring to. "Just to be clear, it's not because you're super hot or anything, just that you'd be a terrible medical receptionist."

She rolls her eyes, flicking an onion from her own hot dog that didn't pass muster out the car window. "And who are you?"

It takes him longer to come up with an obnoxiously preppy name. "Preston Fairfield," he says in a stuffy aristocrat voice. "I graduated from Harvard with a degree in economics and I'm at Columbia now getting my MBA."

She snorts.

"Fine," he concedes (in his normal voice). "I'm Adam Delaney and I'm taking business at CUNY. Better?"

"More realistic," she says, reaching for a napkin. Lucky for her, he snags a handful every time he stops at McDonalds so he has a _huge_ stash in his glove compartment. It wasn't cheap, it was just smart. "So how did we meet?"

"I was looking for a convenient place to drown my sorrows after getting my ass handed to me on a finance exam?"

She nods her approval. "Very good, you're keeping it real. And of all the bars, you walked into mine." She stops chewing for a second. "Is this a romance?"

"Sure. Your grizzly boss served me my first five drinks. Then you showed up, late for your shift. He was pissed off, so he left you with me. Since I was wearing beer goggles, I severely overestimated your attractiveness, and here we are now. On a date to watch a guy," he grumbles, making a vague hand movement in the direction of Romano's.

"Adam Delaney," she drawls, apparently not at all put off, and he wishes she'd say his real name like that,  "You thought I was gorgeous. And out of your league."

"Not far off," he mumbles, sneaking another look into the restaurant. The guy was still working on his linguine.

"What?"

"Nothing. And don't flatter yourself. You were cute, but you're not a 12."

"A 12?"

"Out of 10."

"That's what you say now, _Adam Delaney_ ," she says, again managing to elevate the white bread qualities of his cover name into something much more sultry. "You were too scared to ask me out. You," she says decisively, "were depressed."

"Clinically?"

"I don't know, I'm not a psychiatrist. I dropped out of DeVry," she says, and he laughs. "But you told me it was your second time taking Finance for Dummies."

" _Advanced_ Finance for Dummies," he corrects her.

"Whatever. First I told you that I didn't think that was a legit course. I suggested you look into that before enrolling again. Then I told you that I didn't think finance was for you."

"You shattered my dreams that night. I hope you made it up to me," he says, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

"Oh I did. With career advice and therapy."

"And what did you say?"

"That you should consider joining the police force.  And another beer. That was the therapy part."

"And that's when I fell in love with you. Current me when you gave me beer on the house, and 6 year old me, who was convinced he'd make an awesome cop."

"So I helped you find your calling. Now what? How did we get here, in the same car at the same time?"

"Well, this is where the story takes a dark turn. I may be in love with you, but the feeling isn't mutual. I decided to ask you out and you said no. I was crushed, but I kept trying. You didn't give in, but I didn't give up either. I start getting obsessive, and it becomes a terrible, all-consuming love. You have to quit your job to get away from me. I start showing up places you happen to be and you have to put a restraining order on me. Eventually, I'm placed in psychiatric care. After years of therapy and observation, I'm finally released. I still want to be a cop, so I have to assume a new identity when I apply, one without a record. I get in, and graduate from the academy as Jake Peralta and no one knows my real story. I get a post with the 99, and the captain tells me my new partner is on assignment for 2 weeks. I meet her when she gets back and I find out my new partner is you. Your real name is Amy Santiago, and you were undercover when I met you at the bar. Seeing you again sends me on a downward spiral that I hide with a juvenile sense of humor and stunted maturity. But damn, am I ever good at my job."

There's a moment of stunned silence before she responds. "Wow. I don't even have words for how creepy that was."

"Thanks. I should write cautionary fairy tales for children."

"What, entitled 'Don't get involved with the girl at the bar?"

"If I could keep even one person from going through what I did..." he says, in mock seriousness.

She laughs. "Remind me to never turn you down."

Of course, being the idiot that he was, he'd take that as a sign. "Do you want to go out sometime?" he blurts out gracelessly, and as soon as the words are out of his mouth, he realizes what a facepalm moment this is. The look on her face compels him to explain (poorly). "Like, you know. As soon as possible?"

"Why?" she asks flatly. It's more of a statement, really. And one he doesn't know how to answer. Couldn't she just be flattered like a normal person?

"Really?! _'Why?_ '' Is this seriously what you ask guys that ask you out?"

She looks a bit embarrassed. "No, I meant like, why now, all of a sudden...you know...you'd be interested?"

"It wasn't all of a sudden," he explains patiently.  "I'm only asking you now. So..."

"Yes?" she says, but this isn't Jeopardy and she wasn't supposed to phrase her answer in the form of a question.

"Well, don't sound like you meant it or anything."

"Sorry," she mutters. "Just...are you kidding?"

If she hadn't sounded truly baffled, he might have taken it personally. "I'm-" he starts, but gives up, "-ugh, ok I'm kidding. I didn't mean it. You're not my type.  I was just being dumb. You're dumb," he adds quickly. Maybe if he insulted her, she'd forget that he totally tried to ask her out right now and she didn't believe he was serious.

She's not listening to him anyway. She's staring past him into Romano's. "Shit, I think the guy saw us. Are you stupid? Don't look!" she hisses, when he turns to check, somehow without disturbing the smile on her face.

"Great. Should we call it in?"

"No! We don't have anything until he talks to the cashier at the convenience store." She checks over his shoulder again. "And he's coming towards us. What do we do?"

"We-" he starts, but he's drawing a blank. "How long do we have?"

"Until he reaches the car? 10 seconds. " She's still looking past him. "I'm not your type, right?" she asks.

So she _was_ listening. "What does that have to do with anyth-"  and her lips are on his, cutting off his sentence, and it feels very _intentional_ , not like she tripped and somehow landed lips first against his. No, this was definitely different, he thinks, which was hard to do when her mouth was warm against his, and her nails were scraping through his hair like that. He feels like he just told her something about him that somehow she knew already.  "Holy shit," he says when she pulls away, giving him a quick closing kiss on the cheek. He's staring at her, he can't stop. If she tells him that was just to keep from having their covers blown (what covers? their 'sitting in a car, staring at a guy' cover?) he wouldn't believe her. In fact, he'd refuse to believe her.

She's looking out the window again. "Ok, he's gone." She grins at him. "You did good."

He can't even respond to that. He's pretty sure his expression is one of dumbstruck awe. Way to play it cool. 

At least she doesn't seem to notice. "Ugh, I got some lipgloss on you-" she says, motioning to her own cheek to show him where it was. She starts rifling in his glove compartment for napkins.

"Is it clear?"

"Mostly."

"Leave it." He's going to need the physical evidence later to convince himself that this whole thing actually happened.

She finally stops fussing around for napkins. "Stop looking at me like that."

He realizes he still staring. "Like what?"

"Like..." and it takes her a second to put it into words, "...like I'm your type?"

He shakes his head as he sees their guy go in the 7/11. "That's just my resting face. Let's just call it in," he says.

 


End file.
